


Laid Out

by Frostfire



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: F/M, First Time, Sensation Play, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostfire/pseuds/Frostfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So they're drinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laid Out

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere vaguely late-season-2; I haven't seen most of S3, so no spoilers for it (or continuity with it). For Kink Bingo Amnesty, "sensation play."

So they’re drinking, which is probably what clouds Audrey’s judgment enough to start doing it.

They’re not even drinking at the Gull, where, okay, she might still have done it, but she would’ve had to limit herself to methods appropriate for a public setting. They’re drinking upstairs, in Audrey’s new place.

But the drinking, that is the point. Because she’s made herself…several martinis, and Nathan has had…many beers, and they’re talking about the Troubles, and he has his serious brooding face on, which doesn’t fit with how the official night off was supposed to go. She decided herself, that morning when they made plans, that tonight they would _not_ work and they would still somehow enjoy themselves.

So she reaches out and pokes him in the side.

The noise he makes is so very, very entertaining—sort of like a cut-off hiccup—that she has to do it again. And he makes another, even _more_ entertaining noise, so she does it again. And again.

“What—what are you—stop it!” Nathan’s trying to fend her off, sort of. He’s not being serious about it, though—he hasn’t felt anything since Audrey clapped him on the back on, on, Monday, she thinks.

“No,” she says, getting in another poke. “Your mood is ruining my plan to learn what this mysterious _fun_ is that everyone’s always talking about.”

“Oh, was that your plan for tonight? I was trying to figure it out.” Nathan halfway dodges another poke; she gets him in the hip, and he twitches. “At first I thought maybe you were investigating _me_ for something, and then I thought maybe there were Troubles manifesting in your new place, and _then_ I thought that it had something to do with Duke and you wanted me near the Gull just in case. But now I see.”

“People always say that time off is fun,” Audrey says. “I think work is fun.”

“We know,” Nathan says, and that gets him tickled.

He collapses back on her floor instantly, laughing, and almost knocks over his beer; she goes to save it and lets go of him, but he keeps laughing. “You can’t feel it anymore, can you?” she asks, setting the beer safely out of the way.

“No, but it’s still—” he waves a hand toward his torso. “I’m remembering it. It’s almost like it’s still there.”

And that is _so_ sad that she has to do it again, tickle him while he flails his humongously long arms and legs around, and laughs and laughs. He doesn’t smile very much, Audrey thinks, which is too bad, because his smile is nice.

She finally stops out of mercy, to let him catch his breath, but when she pulls her hands away, he reaches, a single aborted movement, and his laughter trails away on a protesting note. “I can’t believe you don’t hate being tickled,” she says, ready to start again.

“No, I—it doesn’t matter. Tickle. Hell, you could come at me with a cheese grater and I’d probably say thank you.” He blinks. “I think I’m drunk.”

“We are both definitely drunk,” she tells him, “and I don’t have to tickle. Here.” She puts her hands on his chest, pushes a little. His eyes fall shut.

“Harder,” he says.

Normally, when he gets all shuddery over touch like this, it makes her uncomfortable. But she’s too drunk to be uncomfortable, she’s sick of being uncomfortable. Nathan’s afflicted; he deals with it, and so can she. So she presses down, comes up on her knees to put a little weight behind it. She can feel that he’s breathing with an effort.

“I can feel that,” he says, “all the way down to the ground. You’re pressing my back into the floor, and I can feel it. Because it’s you doing it.” His words are vibrating against her hands; he opens his eyes, and they’re dark with expanding pupil.

“God, I have no idea why this works,” Audrey says on a sigh, “but I’m glad.” At first she wasn’t, at first she was ambivalent and a little weirded out, but that’s stupid, and here’s why, right here.

“Me too,” Nathan says, short and low, and then, as his eyes drift shut again, “Do it more.”

She drags her hands slowly down his ribcage, aware as she does it that this is getting dangerous. But she can’t quite think—why shouldn’t she do this? When she’s the only one who can, when Nathan’s her partner and her friend and he suffers like this, and she has the power to make him feel?

To make him _shudder_. Her hands reach his stomach, and she lightens the pressure but keeps going, and he makes a little noise. “Do you want me to stop?” she asks, enunciating carefully.

“Don’t stop,” he rasps.

“Okay,” she says, and slips her fingertips under his T-shirt to touch his skin.

He lets out a strangled gaps and arches into the touch, which lets her move her hands up, bringing the shirt with them. “God, God,” he whispers, “Audrey.”

“I’m here,” she says, with his skin hot under her hands, rough chest hair and the panting motions of his ribcage. She rests her thumbs on his sternum. “Are you okay?” And after a second, “Nathan? Stay with me, here.”

“You,” he says, his eyes still shut, “are the only person in the world right now. Trust me. I’m with you.”

“Lift your arms,” she whispers, and he does, arms right over his head, stretched out and vulnerable in a way Nathan never is, except when—except when he feels something. She remembers him brushing a rose petal over his lips, and pulls his shirt off.

He lifts his shoulders and head for it, and she tosses it away, looks down at his face.

“Do _you_ want to stop?” he asks, suddenly; his eyes are searching her face.

“You know, I hear,” she says, “that the skin on the lips is the most sensitive part of the body.”

His eyes widen, and she reaches out, brushes a thumb over his lower lip. His chest heaves. She traces her thumb over his mouth, lower lip and then upper. She takes her thumb away, and then, like she’s in a dream, leans slowly down and kisses him.

He opens his mouth to her, soft and wanting just like he was with the rose petal. It’s strange, seeing Nathan like this—he who fights and denies and rebels and refuses, melting underneath her. If they were really doing this, she thinks, pressing down harder into the kiss, if this were _real_ , and not a beer-and-martini-fueled probably-a-bad-decision, she might be missing her partner right now.

It’s not, though. They’ve fallen into this by accident, they’re drunk, and Nathan probably isn’t going to want to remember that she laid him out and melted him any more than she is, come morning.

For now, though, he wants this. And he feels really, really good underneath her, moaning softly into her mouth, hands clutching at her shoulders. She breaks to breathe, and he whispers, “Hold me down again.”

So—whole hog, she thinks, and straddles his hips.

He honest-to-God cries out, and lifts his hips right into it, and she’s suddenly rubbing against his belt buckle _just_ right. It feels _great_ , Nathan between her legs, moving against her, and she leans down and kisses him again, harder this time.

He _writhes_ , grabs her and pulls her down and twists against her, then suddenly he breaks away and gasps out, “I’m sorry—Audrey, sorry, but this is going to be over in about twenty seconds even if you stay right where you are. _One_ second if you go anywhere more interesting.”

“That’s okay,” she says, and then, fueled by the martinis or something, “because you know, I hear the skin on your _lips_ is the most sensitive part of your entire body.”

There’s a beat, and then Nathan starts to laugh, and pulls her down to kiss again. The laugh gets lost as he melts, but she pulls back after a few seconds, because if she’s going to do this, she’s going to do it right.

“I can feel the pressure of your fingers, still,” Nathan observes, as she gets his belt off without touching his skin.

“You can do your fly, then,” she says, pulling her hands back.

He gets out of his jeans and boxers in about five seconds flat, yanking at them almost angrily when they stick at his ankles. Naked, he looks even lankier than usual, and—wow, he was not kidding about being ready to go. His cock is desperately hard, dark red and smeared with pre-come, his balls pulled up tight.

She touches his shoulder first, watching him shudder, watching his cock jerk a little, and runs her hands down his torso, embracing his naked body for a second—it strikes her suddenly, that he’s totally naked and she still has all of her clothes on, she’s about to get him off and he hasn’t even seen her shirtless—before sliding one hand down over his stomach.

“ _Please_ ,” he gasps out, and she doesn’t want him to beg, he shouldn’t have to beg, so she reaches down and wraps her hand around his cock—long and thin like the rest of him—and pulls, one long hard slide.

Nathan comes with a ragged yell, his head falling back, slumping into her hold, shivering and jerking. Even after he’s done coming, he shakes against her, like aftershocks. She kisses his ear.

At that, he turns around to kiss her, and all of a sudden he’s frantic again— _lips_ , she thinks crazily—wanting her shirt off, her bra off, her pants off. She hesitates at the pants, like _this_ is the crux of it: sure, they’ve made out and taken off most of their clothes and she’s _jerked him off_ , for God’s sake, but this—letting _Nathan_ eat her out here on the floor of her apartment after too many martinis—

Nathan runs his hands down her side and ends up cupping her waist, just above where her jeans start. Waiting, not asking. So, okay, she takes them off. And she tries to get her panties with them, but—

“Little hearts, Parker, really?” Nathan asks, eyebrows up.

She grins; _there’s_ her partner. “Laundry day,” she lies, and tugs them off too.

Nathan slowly runs his hands over his thighs. “God, you feel good,” he says.

“I didn’t shave,” she points out.

“Good and a little prickly. I like it.” He tugs her legs apart, arranges himself on the floor and leans in.

He kisses her first, which feels good but different, and she thinks about lips again. And then—“Stubble,” she says, “ _you_ didn’t shave either—” and he laughs a little, which tickles like hell, and finally licks her, bottom to top, his tongue all wide and flat. She shudders. God, it’s been so long since she got laid.

He takes it really, really slow at first, which she thinks is him savoring the sensations rather than trying to accomplish anything, but he speeds it up soon, getting down to business in a very Nathan kind of way, figuring out what she likes and going for it. Once he has to take a break, pulling back to gasp a, “Sorry, I—I need to calm down for a second. It’s too much.”

“If you have to stop, that’s okay,” Audrey says, even though she feels the _exact opposite_. “I have sex toys,” she adds. She considers adding that she can get off in under a minute with the vibrator if she has to, but thinks better of it.

“No, no,” Nathan shakes his head. “This is amazing. Just—whew. Okay. Ready?”

“ _So_ ready,” she says, and leans back again.

The break has somehow made her more sensitive, and when his tongue hits her clit again, she makes a noise she will never admit to making. He huffs a breath against her—she twitches—and keeps going, serious again, hard and fast and yeah, right _there_ , and—she tenses all over as she comes, shaking against his mouth. Oh, God, it’s so _good_.

He pulls away and flops over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Oh man, my nervous system,” he says.

“Did we overload it?” she asks. She slowly unbends her legs, sliding her feet out straight. She’s probably dripped all over the floor.

“It was all fizzy, there at the end,” Nathan says. “Wow. I’d totally forgotten what that was like.”

“Honestly? I almost had, too,” Audrey says, and then after a second, “We are _lame_.”

“We are extremely lame,” Nathan says. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Let’s drink a _lot_ of water, and then go to bed,” Audrey corrects. Her mouth feels like the Sahara.

“Tomorrow—” Nathan starts, his brow furrowing.

“Tomorrow,” Audrey says, “we will be a lot more sober. We will make decisions then.”

“Good point,” Nathan says, but when he stands up, he holds out a hand to help Audrey up, and he keeps hold of it when she’s standing, and pulls her in for one more deep, long kiss.


End file.
